


make the most of the night

by shuttermutt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Drinking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Zayn asks, putting his hands low on Harry's hips and trying to reel him in.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“You, hopefully,” he says, grinning like the minx he really is.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	make the most of the night

**Author's Note:**

> Rachel wanted gratuitous riding porn where Harry pulled on his own hair. There's not much hair pulling, but there's plenty of the rest. (the other boys barely feature, sorry.)
> 
> **Warning: they do have sex while both of them are drunk/tipsy, but this is an established relationship where consent is already previously given and they've talked about sex without condoms, is what I'm going with.**

Harry has been particularly crazy tonight and it’s driving _Zayn_ crazy. They’re at a club, in a roped off section for the boys and Harry keeps bumping into him, rubbing against his hip in a way that’s completely distracting. He presses his mouth against Zayn’s neck and his lips are sticky from the drinks he’s been downing all night and he just laughs when Zayn pushes him away, making a face as he wipes his neck.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Zayn asks, putting his hands low on Harry's hips and trying to reel him in.

“You, hopefully,” he says, grinning like the minx he really is.

The way he’s staring at Zayn, eyes wide and pupils a little blown, cheeks red, lips pink and slick from how he’s been chewing on them all night makes heat stir in Zayn’s stomach. He’s just so _eager_ for it and it makes _Zayn_ eager, too.

Zayn nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him over to Paul. He ignores the grin that’s only getting wider on Harry's face because it’s not polite to spank someone in public. “Can we get a car?” he asks as soon as he gets to Paul’s side.

Paul eyes them both, but he’s taking his phone out while he shakes his head. “Don’t get in trouble.”

“’Course not,” Harry tells him, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist and wiggling impatiently against his back. “We would never.”

That just makes Paul sigh and look like he regrets every life decision he’s ever made, but they’re used to that by this point. “ _Behave_ ,” he says pointedly when he gets the notification that the car is ready. “No cameras.”

One time and Zayn will never hear the end of it. “None at all,” he says.

Harry pouts but it’s for show. He’s too greedy to want to share what they do with anyone else. “C’mon, c’mon,” he grumbles, tugging on Zayn’s arm to the front of the club. He raises two fingers when Louis wolf-whistles, which only makes him laugh harder, but it’s the thought that count.

“We’ll just stay here a little longer then, won’t we lads?” Louis asks, nudging Liam with his elbow and wrapping his other arm around Niall’s neck. “Give ‘em a little privacy.”

It’s a lie—they all know that before the afterglow is gone, Louis, Liam and Niall will probably be invading their hotel room, demanding cuddles and Pay Per View movies.

“Have fun,” Niall says. He’s leering, but in a good-natured sort of way.

Zayn waves them off and follows Harry's insistent pull to the car waiting for them. There are a few paps outside and the flashes go off as soon as the door is open, but Zayn ignores them, focuses on the way Harry's fingers are tight enough around his wrist to leave bruises. They’ll definitely get in trouble for that, but Zayn doesn’t care.

If there’s one perk to being in a worldwide sensational boy band, it’s the private car service. The drivers never care what their passengers do as long as no one is actively dying. Plus, the windows are always tinted—probably illegally—dark enough to ruin any photos the paparazzi try to take.

This particular driver already knows what hotel they’re going to, so he just nods at them, rolls up the divide between the front and back sections of the car—which is ridiculous, they’re not in a limousine or anything, why is there a partition—and heads off.

The moment they move away from the curb, Harry is sliding into Zayn’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He’s still flushed and probably drunk enough that he won’t feel great in the morning. Zayn is thankful for the discretion of car service drivers in moments like this--when Harry is doing something that could get them on the front page of every newspaper in town.

Harry tries to move to go to the floor of the car, but Zayn keeps him situated in his lap, laughing when Harry pouts. “Not in the car,” he says. “Our driver definitely doesn’t get paid enough for that.”

“Fine,” Harry says, and buries his face in Zayn’s neck. “I want to ride you tonight,” he mumbles, nipping at the skin over Zayn’s collarbone. “Please?”

Zayn groans, puts his hands on Harry’s hips, digs his nails into the denim. “You can’t just say things like that, you brat.” Harry isn’t paying attention, though, continuing on his quest to leave Zayn with the most obvious love bite. Zayn prays that they don’t hit any red lights on the way to the hotel.

Finally, finally, they do get to the hotel, and they rush out, throwing their thanks to their driver over their shoulders. There are a few girls milling about in front of the hotel, but there is no way that Zayn is stopping to talk to them with a hardon in his trousers and Harry, drunk and clinging to his side. They wave, but make their way quickly into the hotel. The doorman eyes them, but Zayn doesn’t give one fuck.

The elevator ride feels like pure hell. Harry keeps trying to crowd him into one side of the elevator, trying to get his hands down Zayn’s trousers. Zayn has to keep holding him away, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to his sides to keep him behaving.

“Just be patient, fuck,” he says when Harry whines at him.

“Don’t wanna.” Harry sounds petulant, which means he’s still a bit drunk, sloppy with his emotions.

The elevator dings and Zayn tugs on Harry’s wrist, pulling him out and past an older, startled-looking couple. “Here, see? We’re here, let’s just get to the room.” Harry crowds close behind him while he's trying to get the door open and Zayn can't even help himself when he gets them inside and presses Harry against the door, holding him there by his wrists, one knee pressed hard between his legs as punishment for his behavior.

Harry whines, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push up into Zayn's touch, but Zayn doesn't allow him, pulls back each time. Finally, he gives up, presses back against the door and looks at Zayn with hooded eyes, pupils gone wide.

"Can you behave?" Zayn asks. Harry nods, sullen, and Zayn squeezes around his wrists until the pressure probably hurts. "Answer me."

"Yeah, yes," Harry says, biting his bottom lip hard enough to bleach it white around his teeth. "I'll behave, I promise." There's an indent in his lip where he bit, and it's so fucking red from the rush of blood that makes it plump up.

"Good." Zayn lets go of Harry's wrists, moves them so that he can shove Harry towards the bed. "Get yourself ready."

Harry stumbles, cheeks flushing hotly at the command, but gets himself naked and sprawled over the middle of the bed before Zayn can even finish unbuttoning his shirt. They left the lube on the bedside table from earlier this morning and Harry takes it up, gets his first three fingers dripping before dragging them down his body. He pulls his legs up so that his feet are flat against the bed, toes gripping the sheets and knees spread wide. They're knobby and Zayn focuses on how red they look, like Harry has been on his knees all day. He bruises so easily. Zayn can find his fingerprints on Harry's thighs and hips when Harry moves.

He remembers what he told Harry to do when Harry moans, unabashed, hips thrusting up onto where he's got two fingers already inside himself. The sight makes Zayn's mouth go dry. He knows there's no way Harry can get in deep enough for it to really feel good, can't get the right angle even with how long his fingers are, but Harry is rocking into it like it's the best thing he's ever felt, letting out desperate noises each time he presses in.

Zayn gets the rest of his clothes off quickly, then, throwing them onto the ground in a way he typically wouldn't because he's too impatient to be careful, what with the way Harry is fucking himself on the bed like that. Like he's forgotten why he's even doing it in the first place.

He goes to the bed, gets his hand around Harry's wrist and pulls it away, biting his lip when Harry whines, tries to curl up and follow his own fingers like he can't handle the loss. "Hush," Zayn says. He maneuvers them so that he's on his back, halfway down the bed, and Harry is perched on his thighs. 

Harry gets impatient with Zayn, slaps away his hands when Zayn tries to hold himself up for him. Harry gets one hand around the base of Zayn's cock and then he lifts up, slides down so quickly that Zayn barely has time to process the tight perfect heat of his arse before Harry is bouncing on him.

"Fuck, slow down," he grits out, grabbing onto Harry's thighs. He pulls Harry's legs out wider, which makes him both have to slow down and sinks him lower onto Zayn's cock, so he presses in deeper with each thrust. Harry whines, grabs onto Zayn's wrists and rolls his hips like he can't get enough of Zayn, deep inside him.

It's overwhelming, for Zayn, and he can't even imagine how it is for Harry. He's just so hot and tight and there's so much lube and precome that every time Zayn fucks in, there's a wet, filthy noise. Harry's arse is smooth, not like a girl's cunt at all, but it's just as good, wrapped around Zayn's cock.

He plants his feet against the bed, fucks his hips up every time Harry comes down. The force rips these tiny little noises out of Harry, " _ah, ah_ ," every time they meet and Zayn finds them so unbearably sexy, fuck. 

Harry lets go of his wrists with both hands, brings them up to his curls and tugs two handfuls like he can't help himself. Like he needs the feeling to ground himself. Zayn takes over their rhythm, holding onto Harry's hips and setting the pace of his thrusts, hard and sharp and quick. He barely pulls out before he's thrusting back in. 

He angles well enough to press into Harry's prostate every three or four thrusts and it makes Harry grunt, eyes squeezing shut. He lets one handful of curls go, wraps his fist around his red, leaking cock and tugs himself to the pace of Zayn fucking him. It doesn't take him long before he orgasms, getting come all over his stomach and Zayn's thighs.

Zayn makes a sharp noise when Harry tightens around him, pulls him down so his arse is cradled against Zayn's pelvis and just presses upupup three, four, five times before he comes as well, spilling in deep and making even more of a mess.

Harry slumps over his chest, letting out a soft noise when Zayn slips out, like it hurts, but he's too content to care. Zayn rubs his thumb over his sore, hot hole, slipping in shallowly while Harry shudders against him.

"Too sensitive," Harry mumbles, mouthing at Zayn's collarbone and biting down when Zayn tries to press his pointer finger in alongside his thumb. "Lemme sleep." His voice is slurred, from drink and exhaustion and Zayn pulls his fingers out, wipes them against the sheets.

They're far too messy to just fall asleep--should get up and shower, then switch to the clean bed, but he's feeling too content and lazy to move. He presses kisses to Harry's sweat-matted curls and his forehead and the bridge of his nose, until Harry frowns and scrunches up his face. They fall asleep like that, Harry curled up on his chest and too bloody heavy by half, but Zayn doesn't mind.


End file.
